Anne of the Gloomy Shop
by Izabella
Summary: What if the Cuthbert's had decided not to keep Anne? The Anne of this story is quieter and darker than LMM's Anne, but at the core she is still the same.
1. The Shopkeeper's Assistant

Anne stood quietly behind the counter, looking out the window with sad longing. The bell sounded, signaling that someone had come into the shop, and she snapped her head around, angry at herself. The days of dreaming had ended for Anne. She must learn to be content with her station; if not content, at least accepting. Windows revealing warm Spring days were unhealthy for this attitude.

After all, at least she had been able to find work. At least she didn't have to stay at the orphanage any longer, living off charity. She was too old for that anyway; they would have kicked her out in another year. But, she thought with a sigh, spending her days stocking shelves with brown sugar and garden hoes was hardly the romantic life she had once envisioned, even if it did allow her to be independent.

"Excuse me," said a young man who had just come into the store, once again jarring Anne from her sad reverie.

"Yes?"

"Well I don't mean to be rude, but I've been standing here for several minutes and you have failed to give even the slightest acknowledgement of my existence."

A few years ago, Anne would have conjured up a scathing retort to this pert young man. But now she simply stifled a sigh, muttered a quiet apology, and asked him what he wanted. If she had looked up at the customer she might have noticed that his expression was more amused than angry, but she had relinquished her former sport of studying people. It led to imagining, which led to dreaming, which led to comparison between her life and the one she wanted, which led to utter depression. As a result, the only people she looked in the face nowadays were the unromantic ones she had known for ages, of whom she couldn't imagine dreamy things even if she tried.

"I see here your store is sponsoring a story contest for the new Rollings Reliable Apples."

"So I hear," said Anne dully.

"I guess I was just wondering, why would a company try to sell 'Reliable Apples' at a place like this where half the trees are nearly toppling over with free ones? Although I guess one could make an interesting story out of it, couldn't they?

"Picture this: Beautiful maiden walking along a flowery path, spots the ripest, most perfectly shiny red apple she ever saw in her life. Her mouth begins to water; she is drawn hopelessly towards the tree. She picks the apple, and in one, swift motion, plunges her teeth into the juicy fruit. But suddenly, a strange look comes into her eyes it is a look of panic. She falls to the ground, hopelessly, dropping the her precious fruit to the grass below. Just then, a handsome prince shall we call him Percival? comes running to her rescue, but alas, he is too late. Fair maiden lies stricken on the ground, her face white like the clouds above, her skin cold as death. He looks at the apple, and what he sees would shock even the bravest of men. It is a large, brown worm, sluggishly infecting his way through the pure fruit. Fair maiden must have died from shock. Percival thinks to himself, 'If only she had eaten a Rollings Reliable Apple, this cruel fate would have been avoided.' Well, what do you think? Shall I win the prize?"

Anne smiled in spite of herself. She was wondering what she should say to him, when a tall woman came running over.

"Don't mind him, Miss," she said to Anne, taking his hand, "he's always rambling on about some such nonsense. If you ignore him, he'll usually stop after awhile."

He smiled, and the young lady squeezed his hand, looking at him admiringly. It was clear she didn't entirely mind his nonsensical ramblings. Looking at the two of them, Anne could not escape the wave of intense sorrow that washed over her. She knew now that she would never experience true love homely orphans never did, it seemed. But her heart still yearned for it, more than ever. She knew that too, though she tried to ignore it, and do what she might, she could not prevent one small tear from trickling down her cheek.

Luckily the customers had turned away to look at some brown sugar. Anne took a deep breath, and was about to wipe it away, when the boy turned around. He saw it at once, and a look of overwhelming sympathy came over him for this slender, red haired girl. Instinctively he reached his hand over the counter in order to grab Anne's small white one.

But the moment was gone. Anne jerked her hand away from his and quickly wiped the tear away.

"How stupid of you," she said to herself. "Acting as if you were 12 years old, honestly. And to let someone see it, too! Just when you thought you had gotten over it all. Oh, will I ever be free?"

"Gilbert!" the young lady said suddenly, "Come look at this fabric! Oh, won't it make a lovely dress for the concert next month? That is, if you'll ever make up your mind and ask me to go with you!"

A look of mild annoyance flashed through the boy's face for a moment, but was instantly replaced with a joking one.

"I'm sure it's lovely, Christine. And yes, I suppose I'll go with you, though I wish you'd tell your nosy friends to stop asking me when I'm going to propose to you. Secret engagements can be so tedious," he whispered, just loud enough for Anne to hear.

Anne clasped her chest, breathing deeply, praying for strength to overcome herself. Oh, if only the Cuthbert's had kept her!


	2. The Storm

Anne collected herself and sat calmly behind the counter, recording into a small book the various transactions that had been made in the shop that afternoon. She directed all of her awareness to recording those numbers and did not even notice Christine telling Gilbert she had to go if she were to make it to class on time. She was oblivious to the clanging of the door as Christine left.

"Excuse me," said Gilbert.

Anne looked up coldly.

"My friend there, you see, her birthday is next week, and I wanted to get her a nice, stylish dress. The thing is, I have no idea how to go about it. Any suggestions?"

Anne unwillingly pushed aside the account book. She led Gilbert over to the fabric and pointed out some material that she thought would look especially nice on Christine. She could not subdue the slight thrill that ran through her as she imagined the contrast between Christine's ivory skin and the purplish gray silk she was showing Gilbert.

"Are you sure this is the right color for her?" Gilbert asked. "She's very particular about her clothes."

"Oh, no, this is perfect!" Anne said. "Her ivory skin will look perfectly angelic, and it will bring out the violet in her eyes."

As soon as she said it, she felt ashamed. Gilbert could not help smiling, though. He was bewildered by this young woman who seemed so detached and indifferent on the surface. But that tear earlier, and her lively depiction of Christine in the gown had given him a glimpse beyond the cold facade. He hardly knew what to think of her. He handed her the money for the gown and agreed to pick it up next week.

She was relieved when he left. She could not understand why emotions she thought she had buried for good were suddenly springing up in his presence. She began to feel very bitter.

"Why must this happen to me?" she thought angrily. "I surrendered everything; isn't that enough? I have given up all my dreams. All I want is to live in peace. I accept my lot in life. I am more fortunate than many. There, I will content myself with that. At least I am not starving to death in some foreign country...Although," she could not help thinking, "there would be a certain romance to that. But nevermind. I will be sensible."

But the strange thrill she felt when she noticed the leather wallet lying on the counter was hardly sensible. Nor was the movement of her feet, as they carried her swifly out of the store in pursuit of Gilbert Blythe. She could have simply waited in the store for him; she knew he would come back for it. And the sky was so dark, the air so warm, it seemed inevitable that the clouds would burst at any moment and she would be caught in a violent storm.

But she could not help herself. She told herself she was going after him because she needed some fresh air, and because he might need that money right away what if he had to pay some great debt, and when he couldn't because he didn't have his wallet, the people he owed mercilessly beat him to death? She couldn't live with that kind of guilt on her conscience. It was the only reasonable thing to do, going after him like this.

She headed in the direction of Redmond. A young, ambitious looking man like him surely must be a student there.

She had been running after him for less than a minute when the storm began. But she was not intimidated by it. She had always loved storms. Running through the sheets of rain, thunder clapping all around her, and bolts of lightning brightening the gray sky, made her feel almost wild. She stopped for a moment and looked straight up into the sky, drinking in the fresh rain. A new vigor spread through her, and she began laughing hysterically, twirling around like a madwoman, her arms raised above her head as if she were beckoning to the heavens.

After a few moments she realized what she was doing and stopped immediately. What if someone had seen her? She looked around nervously, but there was no one in sight. With a sigh of relief, she continued her pursuit of Gilbert.

She did not see the young man who had been standing ahead of her behind a large oak tree during her outburst. He had watched the whole thing, mesmerized, as if she were some wild nymph. He revealed himself as she passed by the tree.

"Hello there!" he cried, "Are you alright? It's quite a nasty storm here; come take shelter under this big tree. I know you aren't supposed to stand under trees during storms, but by the size of this one I'd say it's been through hundreds of storms, and plenty of other exciting events. It would take more than a storm to break its spirit."

Initially Anne panicked and thought he must have seen her. But the normal tone of his voice gradually assured her he must not have. If he had, surely he wouldn't want to be anywhere near her. So she joined him.

"I came after you because you left your wallet at the shop," she yelled through the roar of the storm.

But he didn't hear a word. He was gazing intently at this wild creature. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone brilliantly through the strands of wet hair clinging to her face. She was trembling.

"Here, take this," he said, wrapping his coat around her. She was intensely aware of the touch of his hot skin against her wet arms. New feelings surged through her body; she felt as if she'd been given a glimpse of a different world. A world she had given up, she reminded herself, and whose acknowledgement would only cause her more pain.

"I have to get back to the shop," she said firmly, "I'm not supposed to leave, you know, someone might come in. Here," she said, handing him the wallet.

He took it mechanically, still unable to avert his eyes from her large gray ones.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Anne was somewhat startled by this abrupt question, but she answered politely. "Anne Shirley."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Shirley. I'm Gilbert Blythe."

Anne's eyes faltered under his intense gaze, and she was ashamed to feel the blood rushing to her face.

"I...I should really get going," she stuttered, unwrapping herself from his coat.

"Wait!" he cried. She turned around.

"What?"

"Thank you for bringing me my wallet, Miss Shirley. You didn't have to do that."

Anne mumbled some sort of typical reply and began to walk away again.

"Miss Shirley, have you lived in Kingsport long?" he asked.

Everything told her to keep walking. She knew no good could come out of talking with this boy. It would reawaken parts of her that were best kept numb. But her feet wouldn't move. She turned around.

"About a year now. You?"

"Oh, I've only been here a few weeks. I'm in my first year at Redmond. But I'm from the island originally. Where did you live before this?"

"I was born in Bolingbrook, Nova Scotia. I've spent most of my life in a series of orphanages, though."

So that was a clue to unlocking the mysteries of this strange girl, Gilbert thought.

"I see," he said kindly. "What brought you to Kingsport, then?"

"Mostly I just wanted to escape. I suppose anywhere would have done. But I also wanted to go to college. I thought I would find employment somewhere and save up. But at this rate, I'll be well into my eighties before I can afford tuition. Nearly all my wages go towards my boarding," she said sadly, wondering why she was sharing all of this with a complete stranger.

"Well did you think about applying for a scholarship?" Gilbert asked.

"Vaguely. I wouldn't know how to go about it, really. Aren't most scholarships only for people currently enrolled?"

"Sure, some are. But I happen to know of an essay contest sponsored by the English department. Anyone can enter. The winner gets a full year scholarship."

Anne's eyes grew very large, and for a moment the weary, melancholy expression that had taken seemingly permanent residence on her face was replaced by a young, hopeful one. Gilbert's heart fluttered at the sight of it.

"You have to apply, Anne! I hope you don't mind me calling you Anne."

She didn't object, so he went on.

"I'm sure you'd have a shot at it in fact I could even help you," he said, figuring that most orphans probably weren't exposed to a very thorough education.

Something of the old pride which had marked so many experiences in her childhood, but had been gradually replaced by an expression of dreary acceptance and conformity, flashed up into her eyes. She was perfectly capable of writing an essay on her own, orphan or not, and it was mighty presumptuous of this cocksure college boy to think she would need his help.

"I'm sure I can manage on my own, thank you," she said icily.

"Suit yourself," he said with a grin.

The storm had finally subsided and the sun was just poking out from behind a white cloud.

"I have to go," Anne said suddenly. "I shouldn't have stayed this long. Thank you for telling me about the essay."

"Wait, let me walk you back it's still raining a little."

But she was already running away. He watched her until she disappeared behind a bend, by which point he had already thought of several good excuses for visiting that shop in the near future.


	3. A Walk and Its Results

The remainder of that day was a blur for Anne. She told herself over and over again that it was foolish to be excited. Who was she to think she could defeat hundreds of scholarly college students at an essay contest? She had all but convinced herself to ignore the scholarship. It would only lead to further disappointment, and at the young age of 18, Anne Shirley had experienced more disappointment than many people did in their entire lives. She was sick of it.

But the pink glow of the sunset coming in through the windows lured her out of the shop after she closed, rather than upstairs to her modest apartment. She told herself she was simply taking a short walk; after all, the grounds of Redmond were much more beautiful than many other areas in Kingsport. And, if the English building happened to be situated in the most beautiful spot on the campus, could anyone say that was her fault?

From a short distance, a young woman surrounded by a group of giggling coeds spotted a slender, red-haired girl standing in front of the building. She was clasping her hands and staring up at large oak doors as if in prayer. Something about her expression was captivating.

"Phil, darling, come back to us. What are you looking at? We'll be late to the party!"

Ignoring them, Phil sauntered over to Anne.

"Excuse me, do I know you? I'm sure I've seen you somewhere before."

Anne blushed. "I work at the shop down the lane," she confessed. "You probably saw me there."

"Well, there's nothing shameful in that, honey. What are you looking at? Oh! The scholarship poster. Are you going to apply? Father wants me to, but I'm better at math than English. And it's not as if he couldn't pay for me without it."

"Oh," said Anne coldly.

Phil laughed, "Don't take that tone with me! I'm not proud of being rich. Not that I have a problem with it. I was just telling you how it is, that's all. I'm not conceited, though I am terribly spoiled, probably. But enough of me! What is your name?"

"Anne Shirley."

"Mine is Philippa Gordon, but everyone calls me Phil. You know, Anne, I'm beginning to feel quite ashamed for coming over here and attacking you so mercilessly. I spotted you from over there (pointing to the group of girls), and I simply felt that I had to introduce myself. But now that I've done it, I feel like a classic fool. And I'm making it worse with every word I say!"

Anne couldn't help laughing.

"There, you do have a nice smile! Mine's dreadfully crooked, though my beaus tell me it's adorable. What do you think of it?" asked Phil, grinning widely.

"I'd say it's the most delicious smile I ever saw," Anne replied.

"Ha! Now you're teasing. Oh, would you look at those girls? Beckoning to me as if I were a dog. We're off to a party, of course. Anne, you should join us!"

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly," said Anne, who, though profoundly grateful for the invitation, could not allow herself to accept.

"Why not! What else are you going to do? It's Saturday night, honey."

"Thank you for inviting me, really," said Anne sincerely, "but I can't go. I have work to do. Also, I'm not even a student here."

"Pooh, who cares about that? Anyway, you will be after you write that essay."

Anne smiled, thanked her again for the invitation, but firmly declined. Phil threw her arms in the air helplessly, and, suddenly, smothered Anne with a hug, then ran away to join her friends. Anne's heart thrilled with this warm gesture it was probably the first embrace anyone had given her since her infancy.

She walked slowly away, swelling with emotion, and finally sat down on a bench underneath an apple tree to enjoy the rest of the sunset. Anne's soul stretched out toward the glowing sky like with childlike rapture. She did not at first notice that someone had sat down beside her.

"I just can't get away from you today, can I Anne? First you hunt me down in the storm, now you invade my favorite star-gazing bench. How am I supposed to react to this?" Gilbert asked.

"You'll have a fine time finding the stars amongst these orange wisps," Anne said dreamily, gazing at the fading sunset.

"I don't know Anne. You're hair's pretty thick, but I'd be surprised if it could blot out the entire sky."

Anne's eyes flashed. "Well, I certainly wouldn't want to get in your way," she said coldly, standing up. "Good evening, Mr. Blythe."

Gilbert laughed and started to run after her. He caught hold of her arm and pulled her around toward him. Their faces were very close; Anne could feel his warm breath against her cheek.

"You're hurting my arm," she said, after a pause. He let go of it at once.

"I'm sorree," he whispered, staring at her intently.

Anne's eyes faltered and she looked down at the ground. "I should go. It's getting late."

"Here, let me walk you home. You ran off on me earlier when I tried."

Anne suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired too tired to object. Gilbert reached for her arm and tucked it inside his. She could have managed without his support, but physical intimacy was something she had lacked her whole life. She had never had a mother to kiss her, a father to tuck her in at night, or any close girlfriends to walk hand in hand to school. So she submitted willingly. She felt a strange sensation of safety, walking arm in arm with Gilbert like that.


	4. The Prospect of a Friend

They walked slowly along the brick path towards the shop. The sunset had faded into a grayish purple, with a few splashes of pink on the horizon. Gilbert, looking sideways at Anne as they walked arm in arm, observed that she had one of the finest profiles he had ever seen – that nose! And the curve of her neck, slipping away into the folds of her gown…he inhaled deeply.

"Yes, definitely," he said, as if continuing a conversation. "You are one."

"One what?"

"I don't know how to describe it," Gilbert said thoughtfully. "I met you a few hours ago, but I feel like I've known you much longer. Anne, we are going to be great friends!"

Anne's heart beat rapidly. It was thrilling to hear the word "friend."

"You mean we're kindred spirits, I suppose." It had been years since she had allowed herself to dream about having a kindred spirit. She smiled as she uttered the old familiar phrase.

"Yes, that's it! So you agree? I'm so glad, Anne. It will be refreshing to have a friend outside the usual circle. Although, I will have to introduce you to all my other chums. Don't worry," he said, noticing the anxious look on her face. "You'll be a smashing hit. I have no doubt."

Anne was silent for awhile. Looking down at her, Gilbert was surprised by the fear in her eyes.

"I don't know," she said quietly, biting her lip.

"What are you so afraid of?"

"You couldn't possibly understand," she replied shortly, angry at herself for betraying weakness.

Gilbert saw that he had touched a sore spot. His heart reached out to this pale, lonely girl; he longed to wrap his arm around her protectively and assure her that she had nothing to fear. But he knew so little of her history, and he had known her for so short a time. He didn't want to risk angering her. He had often heard that red heads had fiery tempers. So, rather than pressing it, he decided to direct the conversation towards a lighter topic.

"Did you decide what to write your essay on?" he asked her.

"I'm not sure yet. I hate the topic. Do you know what it is?"

"Isn't it something like, 'Describe the experience that inspired you to pursue higher education'?"

"Yes," said Anne with a sigh. "How can I narrow it down to one experience? My whole life I've wanted to go to college, as long as I can remember. It wasn't like I was trampled by a herd of wild antelope, and as I lie paralyzed in bed, struggling between life and death, a voice came to me, saying 'Anne, go to college; it is your destiny.'"

"Strange. That's exactly how I decided to come here." said Gilbert.

Anne could not subdue a giggle, and so the two shared their first chummy laugh.

"Seriously, though," she began, after they had both composed themselves. "I would have a much easier time with the essay if I could only describe the passion I feel while watching a beautiful sunset, or the listening to the song of a babbling brook."

"Well, if that's what you're set on writing about, I'm sure you could work it into the essay."

"How?"

"I haven't known you very long, Anne, but it's obvious you have a love of nature and a gift for words. You want to be a writer, I assume."

"How did you know that?" Anne asked with surprise. She had always wanted to be a writer. But it had been a very long time since she had given thought to pursuing that dream.

"You just seem like the writerly type. Anyway, you should write about how you want to write. Describe the passion you feel for nature, and how that passion inspires you to write poetry and stories, and how that dream in turn inspired you to go to college, where you could learn to write better."

"Hmm," Anne murmured thoughtfully.

"It's just a start. But in a vague, open-ended essay like the one for the scholarship, you'll find you can pretty much write about anything you like."

"Well, aren't you a smug one?" said Anne, with a twinkle in her eye. "You seem to know all there is to know about writing essays."

"Not really," Gilbert replied modestly. "I'm studying the sciences. I was always better at chemistry and math than English. In fact, my dream is to be a doctor some day."

Anne grimaced, remembering her painful experiences with geometry at the orphanage school. Why anyone would willingly subject themselves to math, she could not tell. Still, being a doctor was a noble profession. She said so to Gilbert.

"It's not the profession that makes you noble, Anne; it's the reason you do it. My father has been a farmer all his life. He never went to high school or college. But if I am ever half as noble as him, I will be perfectly satisfied with myself."

"I suppose you are right," she said, thinking of the social workers that had run the various orphanages she inhabited. Surely devoting your life to caring for orphans sounded noble. But she could not use that word to describe those cold-hearted, penny-pinching, irritable women that caused her so much pain and humiliation over the years.

"Well, here we are." They had finally arrived at the shop, which sat directly underneath Anne's apartment. "Thank you for walking me home. I had a lovely time."

"It was my pleasure, Anne," said Gilbert, reluctantly releasing the slender arm which had been tucked inside his strong, masculine one for the last quarter of an hour.

"Well, goodnight," said Anne, turning to go inside.

"Wait!" said Gilbert suddenly.

"Yes?"

"I'm throwing a picnic tomorrow afternoon with a few friends. Nothing too extravagant – we'll sit by the river and maybe have a game of football. I'd love for you to come."

"Oh, I don't know," Anne said nervously.

"Please come! We're meeting at one tomorrow. It's Sunday, so you don't have work as an excuse."

"We'll see," Anne said. She did want to go. It was refreshing to want something again. She had reconciled herself to a life of dullness and had really, as much as it is possible for a girl of 18, given up wanting anything. But she had enjoyed her walk home with this cheerful Gilbert Blythe. Somehow he had managed to slip an arrow of friendship beyond her cold exterior. The harm was done; Anne found herself caring about him. To care about ianything/i, after these months of numbness that seemed to stretch into infinity, was surely a blessing.

As Gilbert walked back to his boarding house that night, the sound of Anne's quiet, heartfelt laughter echoed in his ears. And when he reached his home and found a note from Christine, playfully reminding him to pick her up before tomorrow's picnic, he could not understand why a pair of large gray eyes kept intruding his thoughts.


	5. The Picnic

**A/N: Ciryl, I was afraid the whole watch repair thing might be confusing, so I edited it to make it more clear. Also, Anne met Philippa in chapter 3 I think...or possibly 4...when she was at Redmond looking for the scholarship information. Thanks for your review!**

**Ipegasus, I'm a little confused about your Sense & Sensibility comments. I've seen the movie and read the book, but while I was writing this thing I didn't have it in mind at all. The only thing I can think of in this story that resembles S&S is when Roy gives Anne the pocket-sized Tennyson book. Didn't Willoughby give Marianne a book of Shakespeare sonnets? At any rate, I think the concept of a man wooing a lady by giving her a book of poetry is pretty common, and I certainly don't consider myself copying Austen by putting that in my story. Austen is my favorite author - I'd never intentionally use her ideas without giving her credit. But you also said that you have to keep telling yourself the characters in my story are LMM's and not Austen's, which I find bewildering. Which characters in my story remind you of ones from Sense & Sensibility? I guess it's possible that I unknowingly incorporated Austen's work into my story, but as for the characters, I'm trying very hard to make them remain true to LMM's representation. If you could give me some specific examples of how you think my story is similar to S&S, it would be helpful. Thanks for leaving the review though!**

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When Anne awoke the next morning, she was feeling much more sensible and calm than she had the day before. She was grateful for this. She resolved to think no more of Gilbert Blythe or his college friends. True, she had stayed up half the night writing the scholarship essay. And, she could not help admitting, it was probably the best thing she'd ever written. But that was no reason to get one's hopes up. The best essay written by a poorly educated orphan would doubtlessly look quaint and sappy when compared to the profound musings of erudite college students.

Besides, even if she did somehow win the scholarship, despite Gilbert's kindness, she had no reason to believe that anyone else would want to be her friend. She knew nothing of the rules of socialization, except what she had picked up in various novels and from working at the shop. She would be clumsy and awkward. Thank goodness she had come to her senses and decided against going to that picnic.

She went about her daily business, resolving to put all thoughts of friendship and Gilbert Blythe out of her head. She was surprised to hear a knock on the shop door below; everyone knew the shop was closed on Sundays, and she never had any visitors. She went down curiously and opened the door.

"There you are!" cried a radiant Philippa. "Honestly, Anne, did you really think I'd let you skip this picnic? Why, when Gilbert told me he ran into the red haired girl called Anne who works at the shop and invited her, I almost died. I was so afraid I'd never see you again after yesterday. My, how large your eyes get! But I know I'm acting like a fool. Anne Shirley, when I saw you yesterday I simply _knew_ we had to be friends. And trust me honey, if you knew me at all, you'd realize what a big deal it is that I made up my mind so quickly on the matter. Well, what's the hold up? Let's go!"

Could it be that this pretty young woman had actually come to invite her, Anne, the poor orphan girl who'd hardly had a friend in her life, to a picnic? Anne's eyes brimmed with tears. Without realizing it, all resolutions to avoid the picnic and Gilbert's friends flew away from her.

"Oh, Miss Gordon – "

"Don't you 'Miss Gordon' me. I'm Phil; always have been, always will be."

"Very well, Phil then. I'd love to go, really, but I haven't anything to wear. Or to bring. I'd be an embarrassment."

"Nonsense. It's a picnic, Anne Shirley, not a ball. And the food and everything is all provided for. Our housekeeper took care of that. All you need bring is your lovely self."

Anne smiled, grabbed a shawl, and the two headed out.

"Now, I have to give you all the juice before we get there," said Phil significantly.

"The juice?"

"Absolutely. At the picnic will be all our most important comrades: me, Gil, Christine, Charlie Sloane, Moody Spurgeon, Roy Gardiner, Fred Wright, and Priscilla Grant. What a relief to have another girl in the clan!"

"Priscilla is a lovely name," said Anne.

"And a lovely person. You two will get along charmingly; I've no doubt. It's Christine you have to worry about."

"Really?" asked Anne curiously. "She came into the shop yesterday with Gilbert. She seemed nice enough."

"Ugh, sickeningly nice. No, she's harmless. But I have it out for her because she's secretly engaged to Gil."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"It's hard to explain. Once you know her, you'll understand. Christine's a sweet girl and wouldn't harm a fly. But when you get down to it, there really isn't much to her. Gil could do better."

"She is mightily pretty though. What I would have given to have raven locks and a rose leaf complexion in my earlier years. What I'd still give!" she added.

"I'm ten times prettier than her, Anne Shirley, even if I have chocolate tresses instead of shiny black ones. Have I said something shocking?" she said, noticing the surprised look on Anne's face. "Honey, I _am _ten times prettier than her. It's a fact. I'm not conceited. I'm just telling it like it is."

Anne silently agreed that most people would probably find Phil's beauty more stunning than Christine's. But she personally would always prefer the black haired, creamy skin combination.

"Well, she must have some merit if Gilbert is engaged to her."

"She has all the merit Gil could justifiably ask for. The two have known each other for centuries. Their families are close friends. Also, Christine's dad is a famous doctor, and will likely be of great service to Gil in his medical career. Well, there's no use hiding the truth from you, Anne Shirley. I'll tell you right now, though I haven't admitted this to another soul. I trust your undying secrecy, naturally," she said importantly. "Anne, I mean to have Gilbert Blythe for myself."

Anne's heart twisted funnily. "Are you in love with him?"

"Of course I am," said Phil practically. "As much in love as a girl like me can ever afford to be. Anyway, I'm far more in love with Gil than Gil is with Christine."

Anne remembered the look of annoyance that had flashed over Gilbert's face in the shop the other day, when Christine nagged him about the concert. Perhaps Phil was right. Anne was a little disappointed. Though she'd only known Gilbert a very short time, she would have guessed he'd be the type to marry for nothing short of passionate love.

"But Phil," Anne said suddenly very strongly, "You are friends with Christine. To go behind her back in this way and secretly plan to steal her fiancé is a terrible breech of loyalty. You know it is."

Phil sighed. "When you put it like that, it does sound mighty villainous. But don't elevate my friendship with Christine to something it isn't. She's a nice girl, but we're not close. Not like Priscilla and me, for instance. The only reason I ever see her is because she's engaged to Gil, one of my closest chums. Also, they haven't announced their engagement yet. So technically Gil is still fair game. _What_? Anne, it isn't as if I'm artfully plotting against her. I simply mean to sit in the background, flirt with Gil no more and no less than I flirt with any of the other boys, look dashingly pretty, and wait 'til he comes to his senses and pitches her."

Anne could not help laughing at that.

"Suit yourself, then," she said. "My, what a lovely day it is! Probably the last lovely day of the year," said Anne mournfully. "I love Autumn, but it does rather shrivel in comparison with the new born glory of Spring and the quiet warmth of Summer."

Intuitively, Phil grabbed Anne's hand and squeezed it. "Anne Shirley, you are dreamy. Oh, look! We're almost there. Lord, I can see Charlie Sloane's goggly eyes from this distance more clearly than Christine's entire head. Stop fussing over yourself, Anne" she said, noticing Anne's nervous smoothing of her hair. "You look very pretty. I always did admire red hair, though I'd look rather a fright with it, don't you think? Ah, here we are."

Gilbert's face brightened when he saw the two of them walking towards the river. He ran over to them and shook Anne's hand eagerly.

"We had all but given you up, Anne, when Phil insisted on going to fetch you. I'm so glad you came."

"I'll not lie that I did desperately want you, Anne," said Phil. "But Gil virtually made me go after you. He would have gone himself, of course, but…" she stopped suddenly, as Christine had just walked over.

"The shopkeeper gave you the day off, Miss Shirley?" Christine asked with the utmost politeness.

"We are never open on Sundays," Anne replied.

"How nice. Gilbert, _do_ come lend me a hand with this fishing pole. I'm so clumsy with it!" she cried, awkwardly trying to cast the wire into the river.

Gilbert closed his eyes suddenly, as if trying to muster patience, and then went to help her. Phil looked at Anne and raised her eyebrows significantly.

Just then the other members of the "clan" came over. Phil performed the necessary introductions, and everyone except Gilbert and Christine – the latter of which was still struggling pathetically with the fishing pole – sat down on a large soft blanket that Priscilla had brought.

"Isn't this lovely? To think, the next time we have a picnic I'll likely have to put on my long underwear," said Phil scandalously. "What a bore! Charlie Sloane, do stop staring at poor Anne so intensely. We don't want to scare her off."

Charlie's face went from white to crimson, which only deepened when Anne gave him a sympathetic smile. After the group finished eating, it was decided by the boys that a game of football was in order.

"Anne, you _must_ play with us!" Phil said, grabbing onto Anne's hands and pulling her up.

"But I don't know how…"

"Nonsense, it's the easiest thing in the world. Gil will tell you everything you need to know about it."

"But Phil, is it entirely, well…_proper_…for ladies to play football?"

"Well it's not entirely _improper_, and of course there won't be any tackling. So, are you in?"

She didn't really have much of a choice, for at that moment, Gilbert came bounding over, grabbed her hand, and led her over to the side of the field, where he proceeded to explain football to her.

"I'm not sure I understand at all," Anne confessed after he had finished. "But, at any rate, I'll have a fun time humiliating myself in front of you all."

"I'm sure you won't humiliate yourself, Anne – you've got quite an athletic build. You'll be great."

"I don't think so. I have a bad history with balls. Whenever a ball is present, it is sure to come slamming into my skull."

"Well then you better steer clear of Phil – she has the worst aim of anyone I've ever seen."

The two shared a chummy laugh. Just then Gilbert heard Christine calling for him.

"Gil, are you _really_ going to play football with them? Won't you come read poetry with me under this lovely tree instead?"

"Christine, you know I'd love to, but we've already made the teams up – it'd spoil everything if I didn't play."

"I'm sure you're a fine football player," said Christine delicately, "but do you _really_ mean to suggest that the game couldn't go on without you?"

"No, of course not, but – "

"Then come," she commanded, with a steely smile.

Anne perceived the slightest flexing of Gilbert's jaw, as he reluctantly began to walk over towards Christine. He had taken a few steps when he turned to look back at Anne. Anne, smiling charmingly, raised her eyebrow ever so slightly – almost imperceptibly – as if to say "I know you'd rather play football with me than read poetry with her, but you made your choice, and I shan't regret you in the least." Anne did not consciously realize that she felt that way about the situation. But Gilbert read the expression on her face, and in a moment made up his mind that he _would_ make that stubborn redhead regret him – or, possibly, he thought, his mind racing with a sudden new awareness, she wouldn't have to regret him, perhaps…

He opened his mouth to say something – he hardly knew what – to Anne, but at that moment Roy Gardiner joined her. The two began chatting, and Gilbert felt there was no call for Anne to be so full of smiles and animation in her intercourse with Roy. Gilbert couldn't quite make out what they were saying to one another, but he saw Roy take off his watch and hand it to Anne, who began poking and prodding at it with great dexterity. What could the meaning of it be? After a few moments, she handed the watch back to Roy. He looked at it, his face lighting up into a smile, and he shouted out to her, "This beggar maid shall be my queen!"

Gilbert blinked. Had Roy Gardiner just called Anne Shirley a beggar maid? He couldn't wait to see the set-down Anne would surely give him. But to his utter astonishment, her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him, clasping her hands.

"Why that's Keats!" yelled Christine, leaping up from her seat under the tree. She was in her element. "It's from 'The Beggar Lady' – I'm absolutely sure. I was reading it just last week – "

"It's Tennyson," Anne whispered, never once letting her gaze stray from Roy's bright blue eyes. "My favorite poet."

"You can't be serious!" Roy cried. "Tennyson is my favorite poet too! I never go anywhere without _this_." He pulled out a pocket-sized book, _The Complete Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson_. Anne beamed at him.

"You know what," he said suddenly, holding the book out to her. "I want you to have it."

"Me? Oh, no, I could never…"

"I insist. You fixed my watch just now, Anne. That watch was the last thing my father gave me before he died. After I accidentally went swimming with it last week, I was sure it would be ruined forever. But you fixed it!"

"Seriously Mr. Gardiner – Roy – it was the easiest thing in the world – any repair person could have done it just as well. We sell watches very similar to those in the shop. I can't take your book; I just can't."

But he would not relent, and before long Anne was clasping the book to her breast. Gilbert looked on for a few moments, and then, with a sigh, returned to Christine.


End file.
